Gliocas fir-deasaiche an Nairnshire Telegraph – Cogaidh nam
Posted: Thu Nov 03, 2011 12:32 am
"WAR OF THE WORDS?
We now know the Gaelic for "pizza" (thank you Sainsbury's) and thanks to Eden Court we now know the Gaelic word for "sweeties". Our pronunciation may not be up to Mod standard but we suspect these words sound just like the English ones, although the spelling is, well, distinctively different.
In the early days at Sainsbury's we sometimes wondered if we were in Stornoway and not dear old Balmakeith. The thought at the time was how many people would benefit from the translations. Now we know: the Gaelic signs all over the new supermarket and the Highlands are not really there to inform; they are there to emphasize a difference.
There is no gainsaying Nairn's Gaelic heritage. It is there in the vast majority of placenames and lingers in the local accent. Nairn is firmly established as within the eastern margin of the traditional Gaidhealtachd region although it is equally recognised as the point where rapid linguistic change took place eastwards towards Scots/English speaking.
The problem today is that nobody of local origin speaks Gaelic as a first language and its existence here is due to small numbers of enthusiasts. Without commenting on the rights and wrongs of the demise of Gaelic in this area, it has ceased to have linguistic relevance for the better part of a century. Why then are we having all these public labels in the language?
One reason that we have been offered is that they help make the Highlands more distinctive and emphasize the region's uniqueness. We can go along with adding to visitor experience but the pushing of Gaelic in places where it has fallen out of use for decades because nobody speaks it is really asking us to participate in a kind of fantasy. And the danger is that in creating a distinction we may contribute to the erection of a quite unnatural barrier.”
‘Se fear ris an canar Iain MacBheathain a sgrìobh sin. Tha Iain gu mór an sàs den Nairn Literary Institute agus an taigh-tasgaidh agus feumaidh mi aideachadh tha sàr-eòlas aige air eachdraidh Sirrochd Nàrann. Nach eil e glacte aig teas meadhan a’ mhòr cultair ge-tà le rudeigin duinte no fiù ‘s a chur beagan eagal air?
‘S chiad dol a-mach bha mi airson litir a chur thuige mar fhreagairt ach saoilidh mi nach boidraigh mi leis a sin. Tha sinn air an ìre ruigsinn far a bheil taic làidir bho Phàrlamaid na h-Alba agus beò ann an àrainneachd far a bi a leithid Sainsbury’s deònach soidhnichean da-chananach a chur suas a dh’aindeoin a leithid beachd a th’ aig Iain agus feadhainn eile.
A-nis rudeigin eile bho Shiorrachd Nàrann. An turas seo ann an 1861. Bho leabhar latha a bh’ aig Raibeart MacThòmais. ‘S e Maighstir sgoile a bh’ ann a sgrìobh “The Natural History of a Highland Parish.”
“About a mile from the farm house, in a lovely cottage by the river side, there lived a single, middle-aged spinster who earned a precarious livelihood during the spring and summer months as a fieldworker. To eke out a scanty income she kept a large flock of hens which, at the time of my visit, were being allowed to feed without restraint among the farmer's lea oats at the end of her house. Taking down his gun one morning after breakfast, my host announced to me with some warmth that he had made up his mind to shoot every one of the depredators, and asked if I cared to accompany him on his punitive mission. Desirous to see this kind of doubtful sport, I at once agreed, and so we both set out for the scene of operations. On our arrival the whole poultry tribe, as we expected, were holding high revel in the midst of a fine crop, and had evidently picked the grain and trampled down the straw over a considerable area. Just as the farmer was raising the gun to his shoulder I said, 'As the hens are to be killed, perhaps you would allow me to fire the shot?' Most certainly,' he replied, 'and I'll stand between you and all danger.' Accordingly I took the fowling piece, pointed it in the proper direction, closed my eyes and drew the trigger. Heraring a loud report, the poor woman guessed the reason and came out to see what had actually happened. Becoming greatly exited, she delivered herself in forcible Gaelic as to the character of the person who could be guilty of such a deed. On me, however, her tirade had no effect, as I knew only one word –schoolmaster.
About three weeks afterwards I received a letter from her law agent in Nairn stating that I had killed a very fine cock, valued at a guinea, together with thirteen hens, for all of which his client demanded the sum of one pound ten shillings. Soon after I called on the writer who was not a little amused at my case, but advised me to settle the matter by private agreement. Taking his advice, I asked a decent neighbour to visit the old lady and on my behalf to obtain from her the best terms possible. This he did, and paid her the sum of thirteen shillings! The lesson was a wholesome one and although my friends often complimented me as a crack shot, it was, I am pleased to add, the first and only time I ever fired a gun with intent to kill.”
Tha seorsa do ceangal eadar Iain agus Raibeart. Thug Raibeart oraid seachad don Nairn Literary Institute ann an 1886.Saoilidh mi gun robh bacadh ann eadar Raibeart agus a’ chailleach ud dìreach mar a tha bacadh eadar Iain agus na soidhnicheachan piotsa ann an Sainsbury’s. ‘S e trioblaid nach bi aig an 40 chloinne a tha a’ dol tro fhoglam Gàidhlig ann an Inbhir Narann an drasta fhein ge-tà.
PS tilleadh mi a-maireach gus mo cuid droch Ghàidhlig a chur ceart.
We now know the Gaelic for "pizza" (thank you Sainsbury's) and thanks to Eden Court we now know the Gaelic word for "sweeties". Our pronunciation may not be up to Mod standard but we suspect these words sound just like the English ones, although the spelling is, well, distinctively different.
In the early days at Sainsbury's we sometimes wondered if we were in Stornoway and not dear old Balmakeith. The thought at the time was how many people would benefit from the translations. Now we know: the Gaelic signs all over the new supermarket and the Highlands are not really there to inform; they are there to emphasize a difference.
There is no gainsaying Nairn's Gaelic heritage. It is there in the vast majority of placenames and lingers in the local accent. Nairn is firmly established as within the eastern margin of the traditional Gaidhealtachd region although it is equally recognised as the point where rapid linguistic change took place eastwards towards Scots/English speaking.
The problem today is that nobody of local origin speaks Gaelic as a first language and its existence here is due to small numbers of enthusiasts. Without commenting on the rights and wrongs of the demise of Gaelic in this area, it has ceased to have linguistic relevance for the better part of a century. Why then are we having all these public labels in the language?
One reason that we have been offered is that they help make the Highlands more distinctive and emphasize the region's uniqueness. We can go along with adding to visitor experience but the pushing of Gaelic in places where it has fallen out of use for decades because nobody speaks it is really asking us to participate in a kind of fantasy. And the danger is that in creating a distinction we may contribute to the erection of a quite unnatural barrier.”
‘Se fear ris an canar Iain MacBheathain a sgrìobh sin. Tha Iain gu mór an sàs den Nairn Literary Institute agus an taigh-tasgaidh agus feumaidh mi aideachadh tha sàr-eòlas aige air eachdraidh Sirrochd Nàrann. Nach eil e glacte aig teas meadhan a’ mhòr cultair ge-tà le rudeigin duinte no fiù ‘s a chur beagan eagal air?
‘S chiad dol a-mach bha mi airson litir a chur thuige mar fhreagairt ach saoilidh mi nach boidraigh mi leis a sin. Tha sinn air an ìre ruigsinn far a bheil taic làidir bho Phàrlamaid na h-Alba agus beò ann an àrainneachd far a bi a leithid Sainsbury’s deònach soidhnichean da-chananach a chur suas a dh’aindeoin a leithid beachd a th’ aig Iain agus feadhainn eile.
A-nis rudeigin eile bho Shiorrachd Nàrann. An turas seo ann an 1861. Bho leabhar latha a bh’ aig Raibeart MacThòmais. ‘S e Maighstir sgoile a bh’ ann a sgrìobh “The Natural History of a Highland Parish.”
“About a mile from the farm house, in a lovely cottage by the river side, there lived a single, middle-aged spinster who earned a precarious livelihood during the spring and summer months as a fieldworker. To eke out a scanty income she kept a large flock of hens which, at the time of my visit, were being allowed to feed without restraint among the farmer's lea oats at the end of her house. Taking down his gun one morning after breakfast, my host announced to me with some warmth that he had made up his mind to shoot every one of the depredators, and asked if I cared to accompany him on his punitive mission. Desirous to see this kind of doubtful sport, I at once agreed, and so we both set out for the scene of operations. On our arrival the whole poultry tribe, as we expected, were holding high revel in the midst of a fine crop, and had evidently picked the grain and trampled down the straw over a considerable area. Just as the farmer was raising the gun to his shoulder I said, 'As the hens are to be killed, perhaps you would allow me to fire the shot?' Most certainly,' he replied, 'and I'll stand between you and all danger.' Accordingly I took the fowling piece, pointed it in the proper direction, closed my eyes and drew the trigger. Heraring a loud report, the poor woman guessed the reason and came out to see what had actually happened. Becoming greatly exited, she delivered herself in forcible Gaelic as to the character of the person who could be guilty of such a deed. On me, however, her tirade had no effect, as I knew only one word –schoolmaster.
About three weeks afterwards I received a letter from her law agent in Nairn stating that I had killed a very fine cock, valued at a guinea, together with thirteen hens, for all of which his client demanded the sum of one pound ten shillings. Soon after I called on the writer who was not a little amused at my case, but advised me to settle the matter by private agreement. Taking his advice, I asked a decent neighbour to visit the old lady and on my behalf to obtain from her the best terms possible. This he did, and paid her the sum of thirteen shillings! The lesson was a wholesome one and although my friends often complimented me as a crack shot, it was, I am pleased to add, the first and only time I ever fired a gun with intent to kill.”
Tha seorsa do ceangal eadar Iain agus Raibeart. Thug Raibeart oraid seachad don Nairn Literary Institute ann an 1886.Saoilidh mi gun robh bacadh ann eadar Raibeart agus a’ chailleach ud dìreach mar a tha bacadh eadar Iain agus na soidhnicheachan piotsa ann an Sainsbury’s. ‘S e trioblaid nach bi aig an 40 chloinne a tha a’ dol tro fhoglam Gàidhlig ann an Inbhir Narann an drasta fhein ge-tà.
PS tilleadh mi a-maireach gus mo cuid droch Ghàidhlig a chur ceart.
